Coming Home
by Fandomology
Summary: Sherlock's return to John, without Mary in the picture. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

_John stares up in horror. He knows it's coming, but he can't stop it. The figure will inevitably fall. This time, John manages to get to the roof, only to see Sherlock turn around and jump anyway. He runs to the edge and barely catches himself on it when he sees the body below. He sags against the wall as the people rush to Sherlock. He sits down and buries his face in his hands. Tears leak between his fingers._

John wakes with tears on his face. The pain is so raw from this dream that he rolls onto his side and stares at the wall. This was one of his worst dreams, but it's the closest he's gotten to Sherlock in all of them. Sometimes, it plays out exactly as it happened. In others, John tries something different, anything, to stop Sherlock. Nothing has worked.

John's only solace in this repeating hell is that he gets to see Sherlock again. Not every night, but often enough. He is fading away in John's waking memory, but at night, every detail is perfect. When he calls Sherlock's face to mind now, his features are fuzzy. He slams his brain, determined not to forget him, but his brain doesn't listen. Apparently two years before is too long ago to recall.

John forces himself to get up. He makes his way downstairs and starts his morning like every other. He sits in his chair and looks at Sherlock's. Just looks. He couldn't make himself move it. The time he sits varies. Sometimes it overwhelms him in seconds, and other times, he has sat there for hours.

The flat hasn't changed at all. Yet it often seems unrecognizable to John. So often he will turn and expect to see Sherlock pouting on the sofa or Sherlock on his mobile or Sherlock reading or Sherlock watching him. And when he isn't, it kills John all over again. The rooms are missing something so profound that they aren't the same anymore. This is still Baker Street, though, and still more home than any other place.

He couldn't bear to leave so Mycroft has continued to pay the rent to Mrs. Hudson.

The years after Sherlock jumped were the worst of John's life. Mrs. Hudson tried to force life into him. So did Mycroft, and even Greg. And wasn't it strange that Mrs. Hudson had known Sherlock longer, yet she was getting on better than John, who had known him for less than three years? At least she had started caring again.

Mycroft is just a reminder of the Holmes brother that John does need.

And Greg calls to mind all of the cases that they had been on. All of the times Sherlock ran with him, shouted to him, laughed with him, saved him. The times when Sherlock showed John that the world needed this man. John needed him too.

There is just an abrupt break in his life. The transition from Before Sherlock, to During Sherlock. And now John has to survive After Sherlock.

Sometimes the air seems to choke him now, as if it wants him to join Sherlock. Other times, the breeze from the Thames tempts him to jump and feel the wind on his face like Sherlock did.

Sure, in waking John accepts Sherlock is- Well, he couldn't speak the word aloud, but he was. Past tense.

At night, his dreams resurrect him over and over and over. John almost feels bad.

He just wants Sherlock out of his head and back into his arms and his life. Even if he is alive, but thousands of miles away, John could handle it. As long as he is breathing the same air as John is, not breathing dirt.

For two years. John has been waking up and wanting to fall right back asleep. Maybe one day he will see Sherlock again. But for now, he forces himself through the day for Mrs. Hudson and Greg and Mycroft and for Sherlock. Also, to mentally flip off Moriarty. He keeps surviving for that too.

John spends his days helping Mrs. Hudson, reading, and watching the telly. He occasionally visits the Yard, but after not too much time, he leaves. He is supposed to have a shadow beside him there. Lestrade's eyes just focus on him now.

Somehow he never meets Donovan or Anderson there. He knows whose doing it is, but he prefers not to think about it. It being what people are doing for him now, without saying anything.

After Mrs. Hudson nags him for hours, John goes out. He still does the shopping, both for himself and Mrs. Hudson.

He drops the groceries back with their- his landlady, and goes right back out again after he sees the look on her face. Pity.

He finds himself heading purposely for Angelo's. Angelo's. God, that place brings back memories for him. The first place Sherlock and he went together for a case. Really, the start of it all. John killed for that man. Who wouldn't he kill for another chance with Sherlock?

Angelo smiles sadly at him when he sits at the corner window table. Their table. Angelo seems to see Sherlock too when he comes to place the menu in front of John.

John takes Sherlock's place and stares out the window.

He barely eats anything, and tips Angelo generously. When he slips out, he leaves most of his meal on the table.

It's only late afternoon, but the sky is darkening, and John goes home. He doesn't take a cab, but walks the streets Sherlock knew so well. John wonders how long it took him so memorize London. How long did it take him to be able to know all of the shortcuts?

John is on the corner when he sees someone in front of the flat. He squints, but keeps walking. The figure is tall, and has dark hair. Like Sherlock. The person turns and the black coat is so familiar.

John turns away and runs. His brain shuts down and he runs. He looks back to see the figure with his hands covering his face. It looks like he's crying.

Well, John is too.

John runs.

He makes it to the cemetery. Walks to Sherlock's grave. Who is buried here? It can't be Sherlock. Because Sherlock's alive.

John goes back. He needs an explanation. The wind stings his face and makes his eyes water.

He doesn't look up until Baker Street. Sherlock is still standing there. He's looking up at the windows.


	2. Chapter 2

John stops right in front of Sherlock. His face is wet. John stands and looks. He's never seen that face wet from tears before. Sure, he's seen rain on it, but somehow these tears look different than that.

Sherlock doesn't say anything, just wipes his nose. His eyes seem colorless as they look right back at John's. They are quiet.

John is marveling that he is standing next to him again. They are close enough that he can smell a different shampoo on Sherlock. He decides not to think about how he knows that.

Sherlock opens his mouth and a tiny sound comes out before John's hand raises. It seems to push Sherlock away. The detective's mouth closes. He waits.

John's mouth moves. He wants to say so many things.

He takes a big breath and throws his arms around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock leans down, and his breath is against John's neck. His hands, God, his hands are holding John tight. He'd never thought he'd feel Sherlock's hands again. Sherlock starts to cry again. John's fingers move to Sherlock's hair. He touches the curls lightly, again and again. They can't tell, but both have their eyes shut.

John whispers. "Sherlock."

The detective hums. John feels it against his collarbone.

John is still whispering. "What the hell were you doing? I should have come with you! Why didn't you tell me?!" His voice slows. "Why did you leave me behind? I could've helped." He swallows.

John forces the name out of him, pushes it out of his mouth with his tongue. "Sherlock. Oh, Sherlock."

He backs away, and Sherlock lets his arms fall.

John feels a stab of panic. He has to hold onto Sherlock. What if he tries to leave again? He grabs Sherlock's wrist. He's not sure if he purposely takes his pulse or not. But it's there. How is it there now, when it wasn't two years ago?

Sherlock looks at John. Holding his gaze as he so often did. Sherlock reaches up to trace the 221B and pushes the door open slowly. John shuts it behind them.

They stand facing each other in the darkness. The shadows cover their faces.

John stands, waiting. He doesn't say anything.

Sherlock pulls John up the stairs, slowly. He lets his free hand slide up the railing, feeling the story of how John and Mrs. Hudson got on without him.

Sherlock sits in his chair. John stands in the doorway. They look at each other. Then, John seems to pull himself together. He moves stiffly to sit in his own chair. He looks down at his hands, then turns his gaze to Sherlock.

He shakes his head once.

The eyes watch him. They have dark circles under them.

Sherlock yawns. John has never seen that before. He points to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Go. Sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Sherlock obeys and after sitting, John goes to his own bedroom.

He cannot get to sleep.

The doctor gets out of his bed and goes to Sherlock's room. The man is sleeping curled in the middle of the bed. Somehow, John imagined Sherlock taking up all of it, with his long limbs spread out.

He opens one eye when John sits down. John feels the need to explain. "I...uh, can I stay here tonight?"

Sherlock's voice is exhausted but affectionate when he replies, "Of course, John." Something in his gaze tells John that he maybe understands. Maybe he understands that John would not be able to sleep anywhere else tonight. Sherlock's eye closes and he shifts, settling deeper into the bed.

John sits.

Sherlock sleeps.

John finally makes himself look at Sherlock. His dark curls are messier than usual. And his face is weary. He has cuts that have barely started healing, but it's him. It's Sherlock. And he has come back.

John thinks that maybe they can work through this, together. When he gets up from the bed, Sherlock inhales. John turns back to see him staring. His hand stretches toward him.

The doctor moves onto the bed, facing Sherlock. They don't touch.

Sherlock's eyes close and his face relaxes. He seems to be asleep in seconds.

John stares at him. Stares at the curls dipping low on his forehead. They lay dark against the pillow. John breathes. He goes to sleep.

* * *

><p>John startles awake, gripping the sheets with one hand, and Sherlock's hip with the other.<p>

Sherlock is tense and staring back at him, breathing fast. His mouth is barely open. His eyes flick around the room and return.

His breaths slow and he reaches for John's hand and brings it to his neck. John can feel his pulse. The doctor in him says that it's slightly elevated. John ignores that. Sherlock keeps his hand in place and closes his eyes.

John strokes Sherlock's throat. He thinks he can go sleep now with no nightmares. He thinks it'll be alright now. John closes his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

"You can break my soul, take my life away, hurt me, beat me, kill me, but for the love of God, don't touch him."

* * *

><p>When John wakes, he wakes all at once, completely awake. He turns to look at the other side of the bed. Sherlock is not there.<p>

John freezes, then throws off the covers and hurries into the kitchen, fully expecting to see Sherlock. When he doesn't, his body floods with panic. The ex-soldier moves quickly through the remaining rooms in the flat, checking to see if the detective is in them. He starts to wonder if it was just a dream.

John yells as he rushes down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat. "Mrs. Hudson!"

Their landlady and Sherlock are both sitting at a small table. They are staring at him. Sherlock raises one eyebrow.

Mrs. Hudson breaks the silence. "Goodness John, it sounded like an elephant coming down the stairs!"

John blushes.

Sherlock stands to grab a chair for John. After he pulls it up to the table, he hands John tea.

Mrs. Hudson suddenly makes an excuse that she needs to go out. It sounds feeble even to John. Sherlock nods, looking over John at her. She puts on her coat and leaves.

Sherlock takes his cup and hers and places them in the sink. He comes back and sits quietly.

John drinks the hot tea slowly. When he finishes, he keeps holding the cup. He looks expectantly at Sherlock.

Sherlock leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. He looks more vulnerable and young to John than ever.

"I'm sorry, John." The words seem broken. "I'm sorry. I don't know if you'll forgive me, but I want to tell you the whole story."

Sherlock folds his hands together, glances down at them.

"I had to jump."

John clutches his cup like a lifeline.

"I invited Moriarty onto the roof and he came. We talked, and he said- he said that unless I jumped, you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would all die. He had men waiting to- to shoot you if they didn't see me jump. I thought I could solve it, save the day and save you, but Moriarty shot himself. I underestimated his willingness to destroy me. And with him dead, he wouldn't be able to call his men off. I couldn't risk it John. I had to jump, and you had to believe it."

John interrupts. "And then you called me."

Sherlock nods.

"I don't want to talk about what happened next, Sherlock."

He nods again, and skips over the fall. "Mycroft had me flown out to Russia. I spent a year there, taking down Moriarty's network from the outside in. Then I worked my way west, person by person. I finally took down Moran, Moriarty's second, in Germany. I- by the time I got back to London, I just wanted to come home."

Sherlock pauses, but John doesn't say anything.

"I couldn't let them hurt you, John. Or Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade." Sherlock's voice wavers. He takes a deep breath, looks up, and blinks quickly.

John leans across the table, and looks right at Sherlock. "I understand you had to, Sherlock. That doesn't mean I have to like it." He shakes his head. "I don't know what you went through, and you don't know what I went through. It sounds like both were hell. Maybe we should just leave it at that."

And they do. Neither says anything about the dreams they had about each other or the whispered conversations in their heads with each other during bad nights.

Sherlock runs his hands through his hair. He reaches out to take John's cup.

Neither moves to get up.

John coughs and then says, "I should probably get dressed." Sherlock hums, then gets up and goes over to the sink.

John watches him turn the water on, then heads upstairs to their flat.

He looks around at it. He thinks about Sherlock sacrificing himself for him. He leans against the wall for a minute.

When John comes back down, he sees Sherlock looking down at the street. John stands silently, just watching him. When Sherlock looks over at him, John can't see his face.

John walks over to be closer to him. "Does anyone else know?"

"Know what?"

"That you're back."

"No."

John nods and steps back. He sits down in his armchair.

John watches as Sherlock walks around the flat. He brushes his fingers over the smiley face graffiti and the holes in the wall. Picks up his violin from where he had left it and touches a single string. Just looks in the mirror at himself for awhile. He picks up Billy, and simply says "Hello, old friend."

When he places Billy back down, he looks over at John, who is trying to hide the tears on his face. Sherlock smiles sadly. He sits in his chair.

John looks away, then back at Sherlock, who is still sitting quietly, watching him.

John's voice is dangerous. "You are never leaving me behind again."

"Agreed."

"I mean it, Sherlock, I probably won't let you out of my sight in the next week. You are never taking a cab alone again." John stares at him until he nods and looks away. "Good."

There is careful silence.

Then, Sherlock drums his fingers impatiently.

John asks, "What?"

Sherlock looks up, "Hmm?"

"I know you want to say something. Out with it."

Sherlock smiles. Then all he says is, "Cheers."

John stares at him, "What? Wait, how do you know that? That was in my last blog post!"

"I hope it won't be your last."

John is still a bit confused. "You kept up with my blog?"

"Of course."

Sherlock shifts to pull his phone from his pocket. He taps the screen a few times, then gets up to give it to John.

John takes it, and reads the familiar title as Sherlock says it.

"Many Happy Returns, John."


End file.
